


Give Me a Shoulder to Cry On

by Teddy1008



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Canon, Character Death, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt, No Smut, Past Character Death, Peter Needs a Hug, Sad Peter Parker, Tony Stark Dies, very angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-20 03:02:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19985002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teddy1008/pseuds/Teddy1008
Summary: After the events of Endgame, Peter just really misses Tony. Too bad he’s gone forever.





	Give Me a Shoulder to Cry On

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so it's 2 AM, I have a pounding headache from the lack of sleep, so I honestly don't know where this came from. But have at it, enjoy. Cry with me.

Peter dreamt of him every night, no matter how much he tried to prevent it.

It was a painful reminder of how Tony wasn’t with him anymore, like a festering wound that just wouldn’t heal. Memories of Tony ate Peter alive from the inside, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. But there was nothing he could do about it, because Tony was gone, and he would never come back. 

Peter couldn’t count the number of times he’d cried into his pillow, salty tears soaking into his white pillow. His eyes felt tired, and his nose was constantly stuffy. Aunt May had tried to check up on him the first few times, but now she knew better than to do so. She knew he needed to be left alone, left to think over everything that had happened and really let it set in. He wouldn’t be able to move on—or at least, reach a sense of stability—until that happened. If it ever would. 

After an hour and a half of silently biting down on his pillow as he cried, his quiet sobs finally slowed to the occasion hiccough. Peter made a small sound in the back of his throat, even though no one was there to hear it. There was a lump in his throat, his eyes feeling tired and swollen, nose stuffy as always. He was sick of not being able to breathe through his nose.

He lay in bed for a while, thinking. Everything in his room reminded him of Tony. Before leaving for Germany, Tony had replaced all of his nearly useless, broken down pieces of junk with brand new ones. Peter now owned an amazing laptop, the newest Starkphone, even a pair of Beats headphones, and that was just the beginning. Hell, Tony had even replaced his _bed._

All of these items combined were probably worth more than Peter’s entire life. 

Peter had been thinking that for a while now, but he knew Tony would have had a stroke if Peter told him that he didn’t deserve to have all of these things because he just wasn’t _worth_ it, worth all the money. He tried to sniff a laugh at what Tony would say in response to that, but his stuffy nose prevented him from doing so. It was a clear reminder of the present, of why he was so miserable. He fell silent once more.

Peter dragged himself out of his bed, knowing he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep for a while. Besides, even if he did, he would wake up, tears stinging at the back of his eyes from being forced to watch his mentor die before his eyes yet again. 

He opened his door quietly, making his way downstairs. Aunt May was asleep; she had returned home an hour before midnight from work. Peter made sure to stay quiet as he tiptoed his way through the living room and into the kitchen. He didn’t dare wake her up, not because she would get mad, but because she deserved the rest and it was the least Peter could do for her.

Peter fixed himself a cup of hot cocoa. Sipping the sweet drink, he tried to calm his thoughts, tried to quiet their screams of agony and pain and misery. It didn’t work.

After he finished the drink, he gently placed it in the sink. Then, re-entering his room, he changed into his suit, the very same one that Tony had given him before trying to stop him from coming into space, before it all went to hell. Peter had to repeat chemistry formulas in his head to properly ignore the sadness that swelled in his gut at that. 

He slid the window open, wincing when it made a quiet scraping sound. Clambering out, he swung out into the night and through the city.

When he reached his favourite building roof, he sat down, letting his legs swing down. Leaning back on his hands, he looked up at the sky, counting the stars that shone back down on him. 

Peter stayed and watched until the sky changed from a deep indigo to a bright orange, stained with smears of red.

It only reminded him of all the blood that had been shed.

_______________

At school, Ned asked him if he was okay.

Peter nodded and offered his friend the best smile he could muster up, assuring him that he was fine, just tired.

The look on Ned’s face made it clear that his smile hadn’t been believable at all, but he left it, just moving on to how he’d finally been able to find a good pop funko figure of Captain America.

Peter was grateful for the change of topics, because he was pretty sure he would’ve broken down on the spot. 

________________

While eating dinner together, Aunt May gently suggested, almost too casually, that if people got caught up or overwhelmed by their emotions, writing a letter could help release some of that tension. 

Peter didn’t see how writing a letter would make him feel any better, but he knew May was trying her best to help. So he forced himself to give a small, tired smile, and nodded silently.

The rest of dinner went quietly without another word spoken.

_______________

Peter just couldn’t bring himself to write the letter.

It hurt too much.

And when he finally tried, he pressed down so hard that the pencil snapped in half.

Peter put his head in his hands and stayed there for a long, long time, alone in the silence.

________________

Even being Spider-Man didn’t help.

It just made him sweat and scream silently, trying to chase away the memories that were brought back up, over and over again.

For the hundredth time that day, Peter wished Tony was there with him to help him through this and make it all better. 

_______________

Peter knew enough was enough when he woke up again, pulled out of his sleep by horrible dreams. There were tear tracks down his cheeks and he hastily brushed them away with his hands, as if he could pretend he hadn’t woken up crying. 

He sat down at his desk again, pulling out a sheet of blank paper and a pen. He ignored the crumpled up pieces of paper on the floor. 

He took a deep breath, stared at the page in front of him, and pressed the tip of the pen to it. It bled black ink, staining the paper without hesitation. 

Like blood.

Peter’s breath hitched at that thought, and he had to run a hand through his sweaty hair multiple times to calm himself. Then, finally, he began to write the first few words, hand trembling. 

_Dear Mr. Stark,_

_I need you._

Then, he broke down, pen clattering from his hand to the floor, and he cried once more, like he’d been doing every night.

Peter cried and begged with all his heart, but Tony didn’t come back, gone forever. 

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to come be friends with me on my [Tumblr!](https://starkerdreams.tumblr.com/)


End file.
